


WriteWorld Sentence Prompts

by cerysemeryse16



Category: I mean not really, Is there a freeform fandom?, None - Fandom, Who kno, oops - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Tumblr Prompt, free writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:58:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerysemeryse16/pseuds/cerysemeryse16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>writeworld.org<br/>This blog has a whole section dedicated to sentence writing prompts, and I decided I'd share all my responses. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	WriteWorld Sentence Prompts

“Is that camera even recording?”  
Drake was sitting in the corner in a warped, rickety chair, arms folded and legs spread apart dominantly. The comment was unexpected, since he’d said absolutely nothing for the past 30 minutes I’d been setting up, alone. He’d wanted to see if I knew what the fuck I was doing, after he’d been the one teaching me how to set everything out for the past few weeks.  
All the supplies were laid out on the table in the corner opposite my mentor, the lights behind the camera, the blank backdrop hanging from the wall; and my chair sitting in the middle of the room. Waiting for me.  
“Yeah,” I responded, double-checking that the red light was blinking. I suddenly realized how clean the air smelled, sharp against my senses; it smelled different than the dull metallic scent I was so used to by now.  
“You ready to start?” he inquired.  
“I mean, they are.” I gestured to the camera. It was hooked up to the laptop behind it, my reflection on the streaming software not live yet. I saw the chatroom feed tumbling in line after line, probably egging us on to start streaming.  
“Take a seat, then. I’ll tie you after I make it live.” He rose up, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms and buttoning them in place. I sat down on my chair, knees angled inward and hands in my lap. It’d been almost a month since I started, and I still got nervous before each session. Drake told me this morning that if I got nervous too much, it would affect the performance and our chemistry would be off. He and I did have exceptionally good chemistry for a couple in our field of work.  
Usually it didn’t work out as well as it did with us.  
Usually, you had girls who were at least two years younger than me, barely legal. Girls who just did it because they wanted to hurt themselves, because they had weird, puzzling kinks I didn’t want to fathom. They were paired with older men with equally sickening kinks, typically bordering on them being some vanilla variation of straight torture masters. Which, theoretically, wasn’t far off from what we did as workers. It was a fetish, and it was money. And I was a masochist.  
And he was young like me, and bright, and dominant. And I loved my work.  
The hollow click that indicated we were live made me smile just slightly, but I had to get in character. Drake had stressed being in character more than once in my time.  
I felt the fear sink into my eyes, like it did every time. Drake approached me slowly, his eyes trained on my body. He circled me like a bird of prey, not saying a word. He wasn’t allowed to say anything; it ruined the immersion. He touched my hair, gripped my chin and turned my head back and forth, inspecting me like he hadn’t done it three times every week for a month.  
He nodded approvingly.  
He made his way to the table, selecting his first instrument. A scalpel, the kind you use in high school Biology classrooms to split open earthworms. He advanced on me in three steps across the small room, clutching my wrist, smiling down at me, dragging the blade over the inside of my arm slowly, crimson pearls blooming over the skin, and kissed my forehead.  
I loved my work.


End file.
